Isabel Waidner
The following relates to the book ‘Anselm’ and Walter Benjamin's 'Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers'. Version published in Guestroom ‘Cosmic Transformer’ 2006 (www.guest-room.net)
                  The spineless entity was suspended from what must have been a hook under the school's roof, its extended head reaching all the way down from the third through the second and first to […]

Marina Vishmidt
 
 
–the utopian structure of the image in general is vitiated by attempts to depict utopia
Though somewhat abashed but warmly welcome the company of my first hallucination, the yellowish bird.  I am afraid I will find it under my hand absentmindedly pet its forehead before I clock it's the contamination of worlds.  Gimlet, olive, cocktail […]

Emma Jackson / Audio-theory is a project by artist Spartacus Chetwynd. But audio-theory is not an art piece, it is a facility. The project consists of the recording of non-actors reading academic texts of their choice. The project stems from Spartacus's own experiences as a dyslexic person at University, struggling with reading theoretical texts. The […]

 
By Isabel Waidner   
The gloriole of the Adept is somewhat skewiff, but Abel's is not an eye prone to lingering on neglectable flaws. In fact, it is not an eye prone to lingering –  'malingering' is its inclination -, for an onset of glaucoma is increasingly taking its toll; for that is the nomen (needless to […]

On the 1st and 2nd of June the High Horse held its first event. It took place in the Grant Museum of Zoology, Gower Street. The museum is a room in a basement containing cases of skeletons, mounted animals and specimens preserved in fluid. It is extraordinarily beautiful. Nine writers had been presented with a specimen […]

Mavis and the Librarian
 
by Emma Jackson
‘Oh the young men are given to frisking and fooling’ Mavis sang in her head as she boarded the bus, ‘Oh the young men are given to frisking and fooling’ she continued as she bounded up the stairs, ‘so I’ll leave them alone and attend to my schooling.’ The […]

Melissa Castagnetto / (This text was originally a letter I had sent to some friends earlier in the year.  After Isabel asked me if she could include it in this issue of The High Horse, I was unsure of its purpose. The letter was meant as a direct response to some people whose works I […]

George Wright / For French local FM radio Djs, it's always 1984. There's a whole generation of previously famous artist(e)s who must survive on royalties from French airplay alone. A random half hour of French local radio circa March 2007 goes like this:
Top of the hour: Brief national, very brief international news, syndicated down the […]

Rebecca Bligh / Hello, hello! So, no trouble in paradise! I have my own mezzanine here, too, only mine has the kitchen (began to type 'chicken'?! there) and bathroom underneath, and where yours is perhaps more Kafka/Polanski, mine perhaps is more Dario Argento/Nicolas Roeg (see below for why!)… I am loving having my own place […]

By Dale Shaw        
My grandparents had an old-fashioned sort of toilet. It sat in a room all alone, no sink, no tub, no drapery, not even elemental nods towards distraction. Your purpose there was clear. For some reason the room was always was achingly cold, even in the summertime. There was nothing interesting in there. […]

Octi
By George Wright
London, WC1
Christmas 2005
Dear all, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. It's my first Christmas note, well, first time to think really since I moved into my new place. It's a lovely little gaff on Gower Street. I miss the children, obviously, but they can't really come to visit much now. […]

Charlotte Prodger
I
The sun is at it’s highest. Mingled with dusty sand, sweat moves over my lips and into my mouth. I taste the comfort of my own salt and behind it the alien salt of the water as I push forward. The shallows fall away to a darker expanse. My head bobs under with each […]

Verena von Stackelberg / After boarding a Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul, I am chuffed that I have a great window seat, and the two seats next to me are still free. As we are close to setting off I reckon the chances are high that they will remain vacant. A small child behind me […]

By Emma Hedditch
Tahani emailed me about the talk by Yvonne Rainer at Goldsmiths on 15 March 2006. If she hadn't mailed there would be no way of knowing, it is frustrating that institutions don't make these things totally public, it is hard if you are interested and outside. Perhaps there could be a central online […]

By Ernest Loesser
 
In the village of Rionegro,
which is really a patchwork of cattle farms
beneath the peaks of the Cordillera Occidental,
a woman named Hermilda Gaviria
kneels beneath the Jesus of Atocha.
In some departments he is called El Nino Perdido.
The infant Jesus dresses as a pilgrim
bearing a water gourd, a basket of roses and walking staff.
His […]

By Verena von Stackelberg
I always seem to be looking through a tube, with my left eye, when I dream. What I last saw through that hole was this: The Antarctica, me in a submarine. We hop through the icy waves, along ice shores. Quite naturally this attracts walruses. Since we hop, he thinks we are one […]

By Kevin Hendrick

IT: With tentacles flailing I descend. My deepest grace. I plummet at my silent speed. I spin a blur like a spinning web. I turn a twitch in your eyes but I hold you, I know that, I hold you like I got electricity on you.  YOU:What gives?So quiet in here. So static. […]